There, perched high above the river, I found a most delightful little rustic restaurant where I at once ordered luncheon served for me on the terrace, in the open air.
The bald waiter sped softly away to deliver my order, and I sipped an Amer-Picon, and bared my head to the warm breeze which swept up the river from distant meadows deep in clover.
There appeared to be few people on the terrace. One young girl, however, whom I had seen on the boat, I noticed particularly because she seemed to be noticing me. Then, fearing that my stare might be misunderstood, I turned away and soon forgot her when the bald waiter returned with an omelet, bread and butter, radishes and a flask of white wine.
Such an omelet! such wine! such butter! and the breeze from the west blowing sweet as perfume from a nectarine, and the green trees waving and whispering, and the blessed yellow sunshine over all——
"Pardon, monsieur."
I turned. It was my pretty little Parisienne of the steamboat, seated at the next small table, demurely chipping an egg.
"I beg your pardon," said I, hastily, for the leg of my chair was pinning her gown to the ground.
"It is nothing," she said brightly, with a mischievous glance under her eyes.
"My child," said I, "it was very stupid of me, and I am certainly old enough to know better."
"Doubtless, monsieur; and yet you do not appear to be very, very old."